


The Man of Mystery

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Relativity Falls, Fluff, Gen, Grunkle Dipper and Portal Mabel AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9407933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It feels like they’re in some in-between place, with some in-between guide, whose life has always been between things, who can just yawn and put his chin in a hand and pull a book over and think all this is normal.An AU of Relativity Falls where Dipper is the owner of the Mystery Shack and takes the boys in for the summer.This is a series of unconnected oneshots exploring the AU, so each chapter stands on its own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a stand-alone oneshot, but I will probably turn this into a series with more oneshots, because I really like this version of RF!

Grunkle Dipper is a weird dude. He runs this tourist trap out in the Literal Middle of Nowhere, Oregon (alright, it’s called Gravity Falls) that’s part-kitschy supernatural stuff and part-observatory and all of it a little off-kilter, like he never could decide which one he wanted to do more. He’s always about five seconds from zonking out, too – either that or all nervous energy, which might explain how he gets tired so fast. 

The worst part, in Stan’s considerable opinion, is that he’s a huge honkin’ nerd, with books all over the place – Stan finds one in the fridge not once, but _twice_ in their first week. It’s like a dream come true for Ford, who can’t stop talking about his ‘extensive library’ and who keeps running from room to room screaming about Dipper having this book or that, and if he can borrow it, Grunkle Dipper, _please-please-please,_ to which Grunkle Dipper always looks at him with a mild, confused look and says sure, sure. 

By day, he runs the gift shop in this weird stuffy blue suit and the kind of hat pilots wear, white and brilliantly clean (the only thing in the house that is, so far as Stan can tell) and with a golden pine tree on the front. In the mornings and evenings – and his days off – it’s a totally different story; he slouches from room to room in an open flannel shirt, a white undershirt, a baseball cap that Stan is pretty sure could legally drink, and blue boxers that might be older than the baseball cap.

On the weekends, he gives tours at night, leading tourists through the gift shop to the shed-turned-observatory just outside. Ford and Stan sit through the first one, wide-eyed and rapt with attention. 

It’s past midnight when Grunkle Dipper lets that first tour out, and once he’s cashed out the last customer and waved the last car goodbye, he turns to Stan and Ford. “It’s past your bedtime,” he says, sternly. 

Ford’s hands go behind his back right away, but Stan sticks out his chest and scoffs. “You told us to come see it, old man!”

“Huh,” Grunkle Dipper says, “I guess I did. Since it’s my fault…” He turns, and gives a mysterious little wave of his hand, and smiles. 

They follow him to the kitchen and clamber into the chairs at the table. He slaps his cap on the table and opens the freezer; Ford and Stan exchange a glance. “I have a question for you boys,” Dipper says. “What…” He pauses, for dramatic effect. They lean forward, drawn in spite of themselves into the moment. “Is your opinion on icecream?”

“This late?” Ford says; at the same time, Stan blurts out, “You’ve been holding out on us!”

Once Dipper’s filled two bowls and sat at the table with them, the strangeness of the moment hits Stan, for the first time. It’s so late that the whole world is still, and hushed; there aren’t any street lights to break up the darkness, no distant sirens or honking horns. There’s just the wind through the trees, and the occasional faint call of birds somewhere far away, and their one dim kitchen light filling the room with a yellow glow. It feels like they’re in some in-between place, with some in-between guide, whose life has always been between things, who can just yawn and put his chin in a hand and pull a book over and think all this is normal.

Stan can tell Ford is feeling the same way, or similarly – they both look at their icecream, the edges going soft against the bowl, and can’t quite figure out what’s wrong with the picture, or why the wrongness doesn’t _feel_ wrong. 

Grunkle Dipper breaks the moment with a yawn. “Go on,” he says. “Before it melts.” 

“We didn’t do anything,” Ford blurts out. 

Grunkle Dipper looks a little alarmed at that. “What? What did you do? Did you two break something?”

Stan punches Ford in the arm. “No,” he says. “Don’t mind him, he’s a weirdo. Thanks, Grunkle Dipper.”

Ford lowers his head. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.” The first bite is so cold and sweet it hurts Stan’s teeth. The next one is easier.

*

“Whoa – Grunkle Dipper! You have an axolotl!”

“A what?” Stan says.

“What?” Grunkle Dipper says, lowering his book. Ford is on his knees on Dipper’s massive skull side table, his hands pressed against the glass. “What did you just say?” 

“An axolotl! That’s so cool! Stan, check it out!” Ford squishes his nose against the glass, his glasses going wonky. “They’re like little dragons or something. Where’d you even get it?”

Stan scurries over from his place on the floor and joins Ford, standing on the tips of his toes and pressing up against the glass. He discovers what, exactly, an axolotl is, which is apparently a pink, almost-translucent water lizard. It is immediately Stan’s new favorite animal. “Holy shit!” he says, and then cringes. Ford gasps and looks at Stan in horror. _Never cuss in front of adults._ It’s one of their cardinal rules, one of the cardinal rules of all preteens – it doesn’t matter if Ma and Dad cuss worse than sailors; it’s _off-limits._

Grunkle Dipper isn’t fazed in the slightest, however. All he says is, mildly, “Language,” as he leans toward the tank. 

Stan feels like he did the first (and only) time he rode a rollercoaster – a little dizzy, a little winded, with an elation at surviving the rickety piece of junk that was  _almost_ stronger than his nail-biting fear. He stares at Dipper, not quite believing he’s not going to drag Stan upstairs and make him eat soap.

Grunkle Dipper stares into the tank for a minute, thinking. Then he gives a little shake of his head. “I, uh, imported him. From Japan.” 

Ford and Stan glance at each other. “Really?” Ford says. 

“Mm. They’re pretty neat, huh?” 

Stan taps the glass, and swears the little guy gives him a peevish look.

*

“Stanley!”

Stan nearly jumps out of his skin, his comic book crinkling at the edges. “Yeah?” he shouts back. Ford lifts his head from his book to stare at Stan. _What did you do?_ the stare asks, but Stan hasn’t the slightest clue. Grunkle Dipper already caught the last trouble there was to catch. 

“Come down here, please! I need you to do something.” 

“Do you need me, too?” Ford calls, as Stan groans and hauls himself to his feet. 

“No-no! Just Stan!” 

Ford frowns. Of course Poindexter would be offended that Cool Nerdy Grunkle Dipper doesn’t need his help. (Stan may be standing a little taller, with his chest sticking out a little more, as he heads out the door and down the stairs.) Grunkle Dipper is waiting for him, half in his Mystery Man getup, as if he’d forgotten halfway through what he was doing. He’s holding a bunch of signs under his arm. “Alright,” Dipper says, “I have an important task for you.”

“Really?” Stan asks, with growing skepticism. Adults never have legitimately important tasks. “What?” 

“I need you to go out and put these signs up,” he says, holding out the signs, a hammer, and a fistful of nails. “Just along the road, alright? Don’t go wandering too far.” 

Stan deflates. “You want me to put up _signs?_ Ugh. Bo-oring.” He takes them, though, shuffling them under his arm. 

Dipper smiles and ruffles his hair. Stan grunts and tries to duck away, more because he feels like he _should_ than because he really wants to. “Someday you’ll appreciate boring,” he says. “Now, go on. Don’t take too long.” 

So Stan goes, kicking his way down the dirt road and grumbling loud enough that it scares off a few birds. Turns out, though, that putting up signs is boring work, and it’s not long before Stan is stalking after a squirrel instead, threatening to steal all of its acorns as soon as he knows its _top secret hiding spot._ He chases the dumb thing up a tree, and then, laughing, swings upside-down from a branch, just for the head rush.

When he does, however, he notices something weird about the tree right across from him. There’s an arrow carved into the bark, subtly so, _almost_ natural. There is an eye carved just under the tip of the arrow. “The heck?” Stan says, and drops out of the tree with an _oof._ As soon as he’s right-side-up, he loses the arrow, and has to take a moment to pick it out again; it’s weird, like an optical illusion or something. He goes to the tree and reaches up, running his finger along the eye. 

It’s not bark at all, but _metal._ “Whoa! Ford, check this – oh. Right.” He knocks on the eye a couple times, then laughs and drums out: _Tap, tap, tap-tap-tap…tap! Tap!_

The tree gives a loud, angry hum, and the earth shudders under him. Stan screams and throws himself against the tree – but just as soon as it’s started, it stops. Stan blinks, and looks around. Behind him, a hole has opened up in the ground. “Dude, look…! Right.” He hurries over to the hole and crouches down. There is a book inside, thick, leather-bound, and a pink that must’ve been eye-searing when it was new. A golden star is emblazoned on the front, with the number three on it. Stan bends down, and picks it up.

Just like that, his summer changes.


	2. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short one-shot of Grunkle Dipper, the Stans, and a movie.

Dipper woke with a Stan on either side of him and a bowl of popcorn sitting on his legs. There was a black-and-white horror movie playing; a man in a lab coat pressed against a door and spoke hurriedly into a recorder, trying to record the message that could save the city. Dipper blinked. “What time is it?” he asked, groggily. It was a Friday, which meant he had a midnight tour in – well, hopefully in a few hours, but the room was remarkably dark.

“Nine,” Stanley said, absently shoveling a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Ish.” 

“Nine twenty-two,” Stanford supplied, with a glance at his watch.

“Oh,” Dipper said. “Good.” The door banged against the scientist’s back, nearly popping open. Dipper shut his eyes. “Is Abuelita here yet?”

“She’s in the kitchen,” Stanford said. 

The scientist screamed; there was another bang, and then the horrible crashing sound of the door bursting open. Stan let out a whoop and pumped his arms. “Get him!” he shouted.

“Run!” Ford shouted. “Run, you idiot!” 

Dipper could see Mabel in his mind’s eye, wearing a lab coat with a rainbow star embroidered over her heart, slinging another one at him that was clearly made for someone half Dipper’s weight. _You should know about lab safety, Dipper,_ scathing in her exhaustion. He could hear her heart-rending scream as she disappeared into the light. The scientist crashed into a table, shattering beakers filled with fluid. “He dies at the end of this scene,” Dipper said.

“Awww, Grunkle Dipper!” Stan said. “Why d’you always gotta do that?” 

“Just managing your expectations,” Dipper said. He ruffled Stan’s hair, then Ford’s, and then used their heads as support to haul himself to his feet. They groaned, in almost the exact same way; Stan tossed a handful of popcorn at him. Dipper yawned, exaggerating it, and pointed at the popcorn on the floor. “I’m not cleaning that up,” he said. 

He didn’t wait for a response – it would get picked up or it wouldn’t be – before heading out the room and up the stairs. It was time to put himself together and get to work.


End file.
